


when atlas acts a man and makes his arms shake

by Merideath



Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Artist!Darcy, Demisexuality, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19203907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: The sketch is crap. Or it isn’t. She can’t really decide.





	when atlas acts a man and makes his arms shake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melifair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melifair/gifts).



> This story, or at least part of it was lost in the chaotic mess that is my gdocs. I only sparked on it after talking to Melifair about prompts and she gave me a prompt for artist!Darcy. So I dug through my files, found the bare bones that I had and wove it together with artist!Darcy in mind. Darcy is also demi in this story because that’s how I roll.
> 
> The story takes place in that sweet spot that is 2012-15, while Darcy and Steve have apartments in Brooklyn everyone else lives happily in the tower fighting the monster of the week Avengers Assemble cartoon style. You don’t need to know that, this is just a fluffy bj fic, but it’s in my head so there. 
> 
> Title from Be by Hozier.

The insistent chirping of her phone pulls Darcy from the sketchbook balanced on her thigh and the pencil gripped tight between her fingers. She gropes blindly for it in the mound of notebooks, cables, and lipgloss masquerading as a nightstand. The phone chirps again. Cursing under her breath, Darcy presses the button and slides her thumb across the screen.

The clock reads 4:14pm. Two text messages from Jane and a slew of emails, also from Jane, fill the screen. “Day off, Janey,” Darcy murmurs under her breath.

Flicking off her phone, she drops it back on the nightstand and tugs the borrowed cardigan up over her shoulder. The afternoon is nearly over and a tiny voice in the back of her head reminds her that she hasn’t done the laundry or finished reading the books on the nightstand like she’d promised herself. 

Rolling the pencil between her fingers, Darcy looks over the sketch she’s been working on for the last however long. The lines blur a little from the smudges on her glasses. 

The sketch is crap. Or it isn’t. She can’t really decide. 

Steve fills the page, as he does the bed beside her. Dark lines sketch out his sleeping form. The smudge of dark lashes laying across sharp cheekbones, parted lips and the mottled mark of bruises on cheek and jaw, matching the bruises and scrapes across his bare chest. 

She rubs a fingertip across the paper, softening the lines of a bruise.

She knows his real name, the one that came attached to a circle of metal and a title with the weight of a nation behind it, the weight of the world balanced on the shoulders of a man. The man in her bed wasn’t that.

If she thought about his other life too much, it hurt. Not that she wasn’t in that part, too. Her path in life followed Jane Foster from a small desert town to a SHIELD funded lab in Brooklyn of all places, the not quite ground zero for alien invasions and B-movie monsters. The tower in Manhattan might have been the center of things but the heart of the Avengers was a local boy who went big and never went back home.

Everyone knew the story of Captain America. Some knew the story of Steve Rogers. Darcy knew the story of Steven O’Connell, the man who took his mother’s maiden name and carved out a space for himself with charcoal sticks and oil paint.

Their relationship is a secret, a lie of omission. Not her secret to keep or tell, but his. Ever since they met a year ago, sharing the same art history class that rolled over to a still life course, a pottery class that was a pencil cup short of disaster, and then figure drawing. Six months since he asked her out for coffee after Tuesday night’s figure drawing class. 

It was only in recent weeks that their relationship had gone from friends to something more intimate, as shiny bright as new pennies and weapons from modern folklore. Sometimes Darcy feels as overwhelmed and as badly drawn as her last sketch. 

Steve shifts beside her, curling tight against her side and knocking the sketchbook onto the floor. His breath tickles her shoulder and his heavy arm snakes around her waist, palm pressed to her hip where her t-shirt has ridden up. 

A shiver runs down her spine, warmth settling in her chest and low in her belly. He murmurs her name in his sleep, hand twitching on her belly. The last bit of doubt about her ability to art dissipates from her thoughts. For now, anyway. 

Reaching down, she pats her hand over his hip. Steve mumbles something she can’t make out and rolls over onto his back, shoving the sheets off himself and onto her. A loud snore fills the room and Darcy sinks her teeth into her lip to keep the bubble of laughter in her belly from bursting forth.  Shoving the pencil onto the nightstand, she scoots down in the bed and rolls over to face Steve. Their legs tangle and a flutter of happiness fills her belly. 

There is a part of her that wishes she had Jane’s reckless heart, that she could be careless and casual and everything that every story told her she should want. That desire wasn’t a puzzle locked up inside her head and heart. Steve has never pushed for more than she is willing to give. And Darcy is willing to give a lot more. Love burns a hot coal in her chest. Love and lust and happiness. Want that sears the burning bone to ash.

He’s beautiful, in a way that Darcy struggles to capture in paper and pencil marks. She kisses his bare chest above his heart, just because she can. She can't have him all the time, but right now he is every bit hers. She slides her hand down his chest, over the smooth skin stretched taut across stomach and abdomen.  Muscles twitch under the smooth pads of her fingers. Wiry hair tickles her palm. 

She thinks about the night before, when they knelt on the bed, her back pressed to his naked chest, his cock trapped hard between them, fingers buried in her panties. Remembers three nights ago when she got on her knees, the heat of him burning her palm as she stroked and pressed her mouth to the top of his cock for the first time. 

He’d moaned her name as she licked at the drop of precome seeping from the slit. Steve had pulled her off, dropped to his knees, kissed her hard as he wrapped his hand around hers. He grunted into her mouth as he jerked himself roughly, and she felt the warm wet splash as he came over their hands and against her belly. God, that was hot, feeling him come, still tasting him, bitter and musky on her tongue, salt and earth and heat.

Darcy squeezes her thighs together, takes a steadying breath before getting up on her knees, shucking the blanket to the side. Careful not to wake Steve, she crawls down the bed to settle between his parted legs.  Running her fingertips over his half-hard cock through the cotton of his boxer briefs, she tucks her lip between her teeth. 

The room is dimly lit by the strands of twinkling lights above the bed, lights she knows he doesn’t hate half as much as he pretends to, lights that offer enough illumination to see the outline of his face. Wetting her lips, she considers her options. It would be better if his boxer briefs were off, but there’s no way to take them off and not wake him. She doesn’t want to wake him. Not yet, anyway.  

The head of his cock pokes out of the opening in his boxer briefs. As much as it’s a thrill to see it, there’s something almost just as funny and Darcy muffles a laugh against her arm. God, he’d kill her for laughing if he woke up.  Tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she leans down to pull his cock out. He’s not fully hard, but his hips rock as she touches him. Her breath catches and she flicks her gaze up to his face. His lips are parted, brow furrowed. 

_ Here goes _ , she thinks, leaning  down and sweeping her tongue over the head. Steve’s hand twitches in the sheets and he makes an odd little clicking sound in the back of his throat. Darcy grins, mouth pressed against the tip of his cock. Sliding her hand lower, she opens her mouth, taking in the head, and gently flicking her tongue along the underside. She’s gentle and slow, licking and sucking and jerking, in what space his boxer briefs give, until he’s fully hard in her hand and hot on her tongue.  

She pulls off of him, flexing her jaw to ease the ache, stroking her hand up and down slowly.  Darcy pulls back his foreskin, kissing away the bead of pre-come that forms on the tip of his cock. She sweeps her tongue over the slit and Steve sucks in a sharp breath and his hips jerk up sharply, pressing his tip between her lips.

“Darce,” Steve rasps, voice thick with sleep and arousal. His blinks owlishly at her, reaches down to cup the side of her face. With a hum, Darcy envelops the crown of his cock into her mouth, hollows out her cheeks, teasing the underside with the tip of her tongue. “Oh fuck...yeah...just yeah.” 

Steve threads his fingers through her hair and tugs gently. “No gonna last if you keep that up.”

Darcy releases his cock, flicking her tongue over the tip. Stroking him with her hand, she flexes her jaw again. “Pretty sure that’s the whole point of a blowjob, Steve. Otherwise pornography has lied to me.”

“Good point.”

She hums and gives his cock a squeeze, tapping her fingers on his cotton-covered hip. “Help me take these off?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, shoving his boxer briefs down and out of the way. His cock bounces against his abdomen, Darcy bites her lip to keep in the ball of laughter growing in her belly. She makes a show of straightening her back before settling back down between his spread knees.  “Better?” Steve asks, scratching his belly and curling his hand around his dick to jerk himself twice.

Darcy’s breath hitches, and nods, sliding her hands up his thighs.  _ You are so fucking gorgeous _ , she thinks, but she wasn’t going to say it out loud. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” Steve says, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. He says the words as if they’re holy. 

“No,” Darcy murmurs, shaking her head. She can feel the burning flush across her cheeks. She closes her eyes and tries not to let the anxiety skittering around the back of her mind dampen her excitement. There was confidence in darkness, even when it was imaginary. 

She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. The warm air from her lungs fans over Steve’s skin. His breath hitches. She blinks her eyes open and kisses his fingers where they curl around the base of his cock. The tip of her tongue slips between her lips and traces a thick vein along his cock, up where the shaft meets the crown. Tugging his hand away from his dick, she replaces it with her own. His thighs tremble and the muscles in his abdomen twitch as she mouths the underside of him. 

Growling out a low curse, Steve’s eyes flutter shut as he gives into her touch. Darcy reaches down with her free hand to fondle his balls as she takes the head into her mouth, working her tongue against the slit. Steve cups her cheek in his hand, helps guide the shallow bobbing of her head. “Fuck, you’re so good, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”

Darcy nudges her glasses up with the back of her hand, adding another smudge. She looks up the length of his body to meet his eyes. Steve curses, eyes slamming shut, free hand fisting in the sheets. 

God, it’s a heady sight. Darcy presses her thighs together; each curse and arch of Steve’s back sends sparks through her body, and heat coiling low in her belly, a persistent ache. Her panties are soaked. She could come like this, just watching him, feeling him twitch between her lips. 

Maybe one day she’ll sketch him like this, all hard lines and bitten lips. 

Taking him in as deep as she can, she hums around him, and Steve’s hips jerk. “Fuck, Darce...m’gonna come. You need to...,” he gasps, in warning. He tugs at her hair in desperation.

She pulls off long enough to say, “It’s okay, you don’t have to be the perfect gentleman, Steve. I want you to come in my mouth.” 

Oh god. Embarrassment fizzles down from the top of her head to twist in her belly. She’s sure she sounds like something out of a shitty porno, not even one of the erotica stories hidden behind a pretty cover on her e-reader. Darcy rolls her shoulders, licks her lips and seals her mouth tight around the head of his cock. Tongue pressed flat to the underside, she strokes him hard with her hand neatly hitting her mouth. 

“Fuck,” Steve bites out,  pulling his hand away from her to  grasp the pillow beside his head. His hips stutter up off the bed, the muscles of his belly tightening up. Salty warmth spurts on her tongue, coats the back of her throat, and she tries not to gag.  She flicks her tongue over the head and Steve twitches under her, pulling her away from him. 

Sitting back on her knees she swallows and runs her tongue over her swollen lips. “That was...wow,” Darcy murmurs low. The taste of him is still on her tongue, salt and musk. Steve sits up enough to pull her down into a filthy kiss, chasing the taste of himself in her mouth. 

“Jesus Christ, Darce,” Steve gasps, against her mouth and threads his fingers through her hair. He kisses her again and she loses herself in the slick slide of their tongues. Her skin feels too tight on her body, and she whimpers as his hands map out her back and hips. It’s not enough and Darcy pulls his hand from her hips to slip between her thighs. The pads of his fingers rub lightly through her panties and he pulls his mouth from hers. “Fuck, your panties are soaked.” 

“Steve,” she moans, burying her face in his neck as he rubs her through her panties. Darcy can’t remember ever feeling this turned on. Steve whispers obscenities in her ear, voice raspy and dark. Hot shivers crawl down her spine, and heat coils tight in her belly.  

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” Steve says. His teeth graze her jaw and his fingers press in firm circles. She muffles a scream against his throat, nails digging crescents into skin. Her vision turns dark around the edges as she comes. Steve works her through it, rubbing the rough pads of his fingers through the cotton of her panties. Darcy whimpers and closes her thighs tight trapping his hand between.  

“That was fuckin’ beautiful, Darce,” Steve says. She can hear the grin in his voice, and presses her hot face into his throat. “You okay?”

“Yeah...just give me a sec,” she murmurs into his skin. Steve curls his long body around her, arranges her in his arms and tugs the sheet up over them. The frames of her glasses dig into her ear and her panties are uncomfortably wet, but she’s warm and happy with the steady beat of Steve’s heart beneath her fingertips. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what Sarah’s maiden name is in the mcu or the comics I chose O’Connell as it means ‘hound/wolf of valour’ and seemed like a name fitting for Sarah. A name only Steve would remember from his mother’s stories and maybe the family bible or whatever important paperwork Sarah and then Steve kept before the crash. 
> 
> Huge thanks go to dizzyredhead, Aenaria, and nursejackiechan for beta reading. 
> 
> Honestly I don’t know how you put up with me. ❤️


End file.
